Pancakes
by I will be your sky
Summary: In which Saturday pancake breakfast together becomes a tradition for Austin and Ally. One-shot.


Austin stared dejectedly at the mounds of pancakes in front of him dejectedly. He'd made too much, even for him.

Sighing, he grabbed his cellphone from the counter beside him and dialed the first person he knew would be up this early on a Saturday morning. She picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Ally?" he asked. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

.

She sat across from him, still in her pajamas, leaning her elbow on the table. With the other hand, she shovelled pancakes into her mouth, smiling at the sweet taste. No one could deny it—Austin Moon knew how to cook pancakes.

They didn't talk much, just sat silently, eating pancakes.

It was odd, as they were both in loose pajamas, with frazzled hair and tired eyes.

But, at the same time, it was kind of nice.

.

Ally rifled through the cupboards of her kitchen the next Saturday, seething silently as she realized her father had left for his piccolo convention this weekend without leaving her breakfast foods. She sighed, shuffling the cans of non-perishables around on the shelves. As her hand knocked against a bottle of syrup, an idea hatched in her pretty little head.

She replaced everything back where it was in the cupboards and shut the doors, pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her sleeping shorts. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, Austin?" she asked, having a slight déjà vu to a week before. "How much flour do you have?"

.

This time, they sat across from each other at her kitchen table, eating their own stacks of pancakes. And, this time, they talked a little easier. She wasn't as embarrassed that she was wearing her pajamas, and he wasn't as tired as he had been last week. The walk over to her house carrying the sack of flour and carton of eggs had woken him up quickly.

They reached for her bottle of syrup at the same time, and immediately drew their hands back. She blushed, of course, but his face remained impassive.

"You can have it," he said stoically, evenly.

"Thanks," she nodded.

They didn't speak quite as much after that.

.

The next Saturday, Austin's head was pounding. His mouth felt like it was full of sand. Silently, as he dragged himself through this empty house, he swore he'd never go to another party ever again. He'd never even _think_ about drinking ever again. He'd learned his lesson.

Massaging his throbbing temples, he groaned loudly as the shrill buzz of the doorbell reverberated in his pounding head.

He walked slowly to the front door, hoping that if he took long enough, whoever it was at the door would think no one was home and go away.

He opened the door slowly, wincing at the bright morning sunshine.

Though, it wasn't nearly as bright at the smile plastered on his best friend's face.

"Good morning, Mr. Tequila." She smirked. He would have rolled his eyes, but he was too pained to do anything besides groan once more. "I told you not to drink all those shots."

"What are you doing here, Ally?" he grumbled miserably.

"I figured you'd be hung over after last night." She shrugged, gesturing down to the bottle of syrup poking out of her messenger bag.

He stepped aside to let her in.

.

He cut at his neat stack angrily. He seemed to be eternally pissed off this morning. She watched him with quiet amusement as he tried to cut the pancakes neatly, and, when failing to do so, threw his knife and for down on the plate and crossed his arms over his chest.

He looked like a little child who hadn't slept well the night before.

She chuckled and leaned closer, picking up his utensils and slicing up his breakfast for him. She stabbed a bite through with the fork and held it up to his face. He glared at her.

He argued, saying he didn't want it.

She didn't waver.

He muttered something evil under his breath and opened his mouth, letting her spill the pancakes into his mouth. He continued to give her grudging looks as she fed him the rest of his breakfast.

Yes, she decided, he looked _exactly_ like a child.

.

She lay draped over the cough, coughing and sneezing pathetically. Her stomach grumbled loudly, making her groan and cover it with a weak arm. She was too weak to feed herself.

Just vaguely, in the background of her world, she heard the front door open and someone walk in. she opened her eyes blearily and looked up at him, her eyes unfocused eyes seeming to be looking past him.

He knelt down beside her and stroked her clammy face lightly. She smiled absently at this, making him chuckle. The fever was making her delusional. Quietly, he took the Tupperware container out of his backpack and opened it.

She didn't wait for him to get plates for them. She just opened her mouth and waited for him. He laughed once again, ripping a piece of the first pancake off and placing it in her mouth. She chewed, closing her eyes, revelling in the sweet taste.

He tried to convince her that she should eat something blander than pancakes in case they upset her stomach, but she insisted.

It was Saturday, after all.

.

They sit closely today—closer than any other Saturday previous. And they eat from the same plate, with the same fork.

It wasn't by choice, of course—that would be weird.

But Ally had forgotten to do the dishes, so there was only one of each.

She took a bite of the fluffy pancakes and passed him the fork. He took a bite.

He tried not to think about the fact that her lips had just touched that very fork.

.

He tried not to think about it. That drop of syrup stuck on her bottom lip.

If he didn't look at it, he wouldn't think about it, he told himself. He looked all around his kitchen, wordlessly taking in everything in the room. Everything he had already digested a million times before, though. The flowered wallpaper, the family photos, the pots hanging from the fixture on the ceiling above the stove.

Not the syrup.

Anything but the syrup.

She chattered on about something to do with her favourite band, but he wasn't paying attention.

That little drop of syrup was screaming much louder than she was speaking.

So, really, wouldn't he have been doing them both a favour if he shut it up?

Right?

Well, that's how he saw it as he grabbed her cheek and forced his lips onto hers.

He was only doing it to wipe off the syrup.

And the other kisses were just to make sure her lips were completely clean.

.

She sat on his lap, his arms around her as he cut their shared stack of pancakes. He lifted the fork up and she caught it in her mouth, laughing. He took a bite himself.

She looked at him curiously out of the corner of her eye as he ate more and more of the stack. As he set the fork back down, she turned in his lap and brushed her lips against his before leaning back, licking her lips. He gave her a quizzical look.

"You had syrup left on your lips." She said innocently. He shook his head, drawing her closer.

"So do you." He murmured.

Well, they couldn't very well have that, now could they?

* * *

**-I will be your sky- **


End file.
